nevermoreraven

I wish my muses would get their act together. I mean, it's fun having new ideas and all, but the half-formed ones that are really persistent but vague enough I can't quite write them are pretty annoying until either a) I actually just start writing and it works itself out on the page b) my muses suddenly make everything clear as day or c) the idea goes away. It's especially annoying for productivity, because just about nothing gets done when they're doing this. (What's especially weird is that the muses have found music for the new story, which usually means that I can actually write it. Not this time. What are they trying to pull? *sigh* ~~Though given some of the muses I've picked up over the years, I wouldn't be too surprised if driving me bonkers is a legitimate goal...~~) At some point I might make a muses post and introduce you to some of these insane people. Maybe. (We'll see...)
Ah well, at least I've got archived stuff so it's not like I can't post! Aren't you all lucky?~ (All A/N are added on after the fact. Except for the Justice Will Prevail ones, which were actually written with each chapter of the fic. And I'm actually editing which ones of those end up with it, so in the end you still get a post-written version.)

Everyone in the BBC Sherlock fandom is fun to write. I'm not sure why, and it's not something I would've thought. (Anderson, even. Seriously, that guy is annoying, but for some reason writing him is fun. Now I know why he's there. Well, that and they had to have an Unfriendly Skeptic. But still. Some things make more sense from the POV of a writer, rather than the audience.)
Oh, and if anyone can't tell, I'm kind of making up the cut names on the spot (meaning I don't always have chapter names). ...At least for this fic I have actual chapters. I tend to write in blocky form without chapters (though I do have paragraphs, which counts for something I guess). If anyone really hates any of the cut names, feel free to say so (or better yet, offer suggestions!) (I do feel it's a better idea to have those, rather than the simple 'Read More'. That seems a bit boring, ne?~
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: Teen
Trigger Warning: Amnesiac Woman bluntly referring to Chapter Two (attempted assault).
DISCLAIMER: Everyone who has any rights to this show has a lot more money and influence than I do. (I'm working on that, though. It...might take a while honestly.)
Summary: Police Station.

She fidgeted. It had been torture, cooperating with the police without pointing out everything wrong with their method or blurting out inappropriate observations or even what had happened, but she had gone along with it because she wished to get through the bureaucratic tape as quickly as possible.

Now, however, she was faced by a policeman that should have been fired long ago. And no one else was coming. They had left her alone with a lecherous idiot. What had they been thinking? Or had they even been doing so?

"Are you sure you're not going to tell me anything? You're making it look very suspicious for yourself, you know." Trying to play good cop. Failing miserably.

"If you do not quit leering at me, I'll break your nose too," she finally said. Oddly enough, it was dignified. Not what she had expected. Interesting. Some sense of self control, how remarkable. She was pretty sure she had a bank of insults waiting to be used on just this sort of person, but yet hesitated to use them.

He spluttered a little. "...A-are you threatening a policeman?"

She snorted. "Please. As if you count." She hesitated, then added, "...Ordinarily, I'd probably ignore it..." (that was being generous, she noted, again with the self control) "...but having just been attacked I'm hardly in the mood for you feeling me up with your eyes. Also, the dinosaurs are disgusting."

She was pleasantly shocked when he ran out of the room.

The next entrant was a man she recognized as an actually responsible policeman. Other than the fact that he'd left her in the hands of the other for that long. Relatively handsome, judged by common standards. Touch of grey in the hair, been on the force for at least thirty years. Touch annoyed, apparently both with her and previous policeman. Superior officer, perhaps?

Also, estranged from his wife sometime in the past four months to a year. Nicotine patch use increased, likely due to stress. Signs of exhaustion. Loss in recent year? Not wife, or would still be wearing ring. Friend, then.

With a long-suffering sigh, he remarked, "You can't just go insulting people who are trying to help you."

"He's annoying," was her automatic answer. She added, after a moment of trying to deduce what had prompted her to share that information, "...also, his womanizing ways are not necessarily the best way to put a woman who has just been sexually assaulted at ease. The notes he made in his notebook were hardly professional."

He stared at her. What had she said? After a minute, he shook his head. "What was that?"

"What, the fact that he's had an affair with no less than three women other than his wife in the past seven months-what they see in him, by the way, is beyond me-or the fact that the man I defended myself from was trying to force me to have sex with him?" she asked.

He looked away, as if he'd just been slapped. His breathing turned more ragged. He didn't answer the question.

She was close to tears herself. Was it too much to ask for a straight answer? "What did I say wrong?" she asked helplessly.

He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "Name?" he asked quietly, distantly. She really had messed up, but she wanted to tear her hair out because she had no idea how or where. Normal people-all people, really-ought to come with an instruction manual.

It was her turn to look down at her interlocked hands. "I...don't know," she stated, in a very small voice. Perhaps the stress could get to her after all.

When she looked up again, he was smiling at her, the sort of smile that an uncle gave to a cute niece. "I didn't hear you."

"I've been thinking Victoriana sounds particularly interesting," she stated louder, trying not to meet his eyes. Why was it that she couldn't face this? She wanted answers, didn't she? This reaction was illogical and annoying.

"Yes, but we need your real name." He paused, waiting for an answer, then understanding flashed across his face. At least he was more intelligent than the others. "You don't know it, do you? Are you meaning to tell me you have amnesia? How hard did he hit you?"

She looked away. "I didn't hit my head...then. My injuries? Bruises on my arms and legs. A bite on my foot, which should be treated because the human mouth is far more dangerous, bacteria-wise, than a dog's, and infection is far more likely. And..." she hesitated, because it was stupid, but continued, "...I keep remembering falling. It's apparently a normal thing to dream of. But it feels far more real. Falling so far." Her shoulders hunched, and then she turned a tight, painful smile up at the man. "It's stupid. Forget I mentioned that."

He didn't buy the smile, didn't believe everything was all right. Why did he have to be so much more observant? And he'd stiffened, slightly, at the mention of falling.

So, his friend had died by falling. Suicide, then, perhaps. Or murder. Someone could easily have pushed the person off the edge. But it was useless hypothesizing without actual data.

"I'll write down Victoriana for the moment, then." At least he was sympathetic. And he'd help, even if he had to drag her kicking and screaming. She might kick, actually, but not scream. That would be undignified, and her breath was better used for her to fight. The phrase was odd and inaccurate. Why was she even thinking about this? "Anything else you remember?"

She bit her lip. He was a policeman. Telling him this might be a bad idea. Still, he struck her as sympathetic and somewhat intelligent. "More in the way of talents than actual memories, Detective Inspector. I can add together observations into useable data. I remember parts of London quite easily, but not consciously. Other parts were apparently destroyed along with the rest of my memory, but I used to know London intimately. I know how to defend myself. I can..." she stopped, swallowed, then continued. "...I can lock-pick using wire gathered from an outside bin. I needed to, you see, to have somewhere to stay. I have no money on me, and no shoes. Yet this dress is fairly expensive. I must have wealthy friends, or have been wealthy myself. I care about appearance, but not for appearance's sake, or for others. Conclusion: Must be for myself. Perhaps prefer the feel of such clothing. Work with hands. Higher than average intelligence, arrogant. Idea of being insane unpleasant. Possible brother. Large ego. Lonely, impertinent." She paused for a moment, then realized, "Hungry."

He laughed at the last one, but still looked unsettled by something. "Well, I can have the annoying one deal with that for you. Since he's got little else to do right now, he can run an errand."

She laughed at this one, and realized she felt vulnerable as well.